“I wasn’t very good,” I tell him.

He shrugs. “But you are very good at passion. And if you have enough passion, you can almost learn to do anything well.”

I stare at him.

“How come Justin Bieber never gets any better at being a thug?”

We both laugh.

“Maybe I’ll try something new. Hey! How’s your book coming along? Do you have more to send me?”

I haven’t thought about Kit’s book since the night I had the fight with Neil about missing his work dinner. I can’t believe I forgot about it.

“I feel good when I’m writing. It seems to be all coming together.”

He glows a little when he talks about it. I wish I had something to make me glow like that. We walk past the lake, which isn’t really a lake. There is a jaunty fountain in the middle, spraying water into the still air. The air is so warm I want it to blow my way.

“Can I ask you something?” I say.

“You just did.”

I pull a face.

“Are you in love?”

Kit stops walking, and I panic. I’ve gone too far, asked something too personal. I pull on my earlobe and stare at him until he starts to laugh.

“Calm down, leave your ear alone.”

I drop my hand to my side. So awkward.

“I was engaged before Della,” he says.

My head jerks up. I’m surprised. I feel like that’s something she would have told me.

“She doesn’t know,” he says.

“Oh.”

“We just decided early on not to talk about our past relationships. Anyway, since we aren’t dating, I can tell you.”

I’d rather he not. We’ve been married.

“You can’t tell. This is in confidence.”

“She’s my best friend. Do you really think I’m not going to tell her?”

“Actually, yes. If you tell me you won’t, I’ll believe you.”

He’s right. I thrive on owning people’s secrets. Makes me feel superior to know I have them, even if no one else knows.

“Whatever,” I say. “I make no promises.”

We come to a junction in the path, and Kit chooses left. I always go right. It feels weird that he didn’t ask me which way to go, or that he just chose so decisively. Neil would have fumbled over that one.

“She was my high school sweetheart. We were beautifully cliché. Even down to the part where she cheated on me with one of my friends.”

Aha! The cunt!

“I mean, I know it was a mistake, and we’d only been with each other, so I get it. Still hurts though. I was looking for a reason to run away after that. So, I packed up and moved here.”

I hesitate. “So, you love Della, but you’re still not over your ex?”

“Something like that,” he says. “Just taking it slower this time. I was in a relationship for five years.”

“Gotcha.”

“Don’t do that,” he says, looking at me.

“Do what?”

“Be all formal and weird. Just say what you’re thinking.”

“Okay…”

I’ve never been called out on my use of conversational words. But, I suppose they’re a bit of a copout if you really think about it.

“Do you speak Parseltongue?” I ask.

“What?” His face screws up.

I shake my head. “Never mind. I think she’s super into you. And you’re only half in. And that sounds like someone, namely Della, is going to get hurt.”

“I like her a lot. She’s funny, and she doesn’t take herself too seriously. She has a good heart.”

I agree with all of those things. But I don’t want to marry Della, or live with her. In fact, I really want her to go home and stop eating my popcorn.

“If you weren’t so hung up on…?”

“Greer,” he says.

“Ew, seriously?”

He nods.

“If you weren’t so hung up on Greer, would you feel differently about Della?”

“Don’t know. I think that the right girl can wipe away the memories of the wrong girl.”

Wow. Okay.

“Sure.” But I don’t think that. If that were true, there wouldn’t be so many humans pining for their long, lost love. We didn’t always want what was right. We wanted what we couldn’t have.

“You’re hopeful and positive,” I tell him. “But don’t break one girl’s heart because you’re trying to heal yourself of another one.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says. “But something tells me that won’t be my problem. I see a whole different shit storm in my future.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “You have a commemorative Greer tattoo, don’t you?”

His eyes grow wide, and he scratches a spot on his cheek while making a face.

“Ha!” I laugh. “Let me see it. After that guess, I deserve it.”

He shakes his head. “No way. No one said I had one. You’re making stuff up.”

He’s smiling, and I know I’ve caught him.

“I’ll just ask Della,” I say. “She’s obviously seen it.”

Kit shakes his head. “No, no she hasn’t.”

I cock my head. “That’s impossible. You’ve … you guys have…”

“It’s in white ink. You can only see it in black light.”

“Oh.” I wait a few minutes as we trudge along the path, the warm air pushing up my nose, making me want to scream.

“What’s it of?”

“It says…” He stops. I wonder if he’s reconsidering telling me. “It says, ‘Don’t fear the animals.’”

And then Della finds us. She’s half asleep and slurring. “I got scared,” she says, running her fingers through her hair. Her eyes are sleepy, still drunk.

“I kind of want my own bed,” she says, looking at me. “Do you mind if I go home tonight, Helena?”

She wants Kit in her bed, and in her, but I nod. They don’t even come back inside. I walk them straight to Kit’s car where he helps Della in, and then jogs around to the driver’s side.

“Night, Helena.”

“Hey, night. And thanks for dinner.”

“Sorry I’m such a lousy cook.” He grins.